


The Art of Living

by calembours



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death Fix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calembours/pseuds/calembours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel saw how it would end - for the Winchesters, for him, for Sam. It's always good to have a back-up plan for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Living

“You must promise me that you’ll survive. Promise me now and never let go of that promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never let go.”

“I’ll never let go, Jack,” Sam says flatly. “I’ll never let go.” His tone is unimpressed and a little shivery, mostly from the cold. He’s mercifully not dressed in a period dress that’s made of something like burgundy brocade and silk undergarments, but the starched collar of his suit is stifling. The long tails of his tuxedo jacket tangle around his legs, heavy with ocean water. He just went through the sinking of the Titanic, dear fucking god, and now he’s floating on a piece of the ballroom panelling, teeth chattering and breath frosting instantly on the air.

The dismayed face of Leonardo DiCaprio shifts quietly into the Trickster’s features. He’s not shaking and doesn’t even look chilled, even though he’s the one up to his neck in icy water. The Trickster’s hands are warm over Sam’s, and Sam shifts forward on the board to clench their fingers tighter together.

“You’re a dick,” Sam says accusingly. His hands are greedy, fingertips sliding along the Trickster’s wrists, soaking in the heat. “We get it, okay? P-play our roles. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Maybe not to you,” the Trickster admits. He presses his palms up to curve around Sam’s neck, and the hunter sighs at the flush of warmth. “You know Deano and I don’t talk much. Makes him uppity, makes you uppity, and you don’t let me be handsy when one of you is uppity.” He adds lightly, “Also, this is more fun.”

“... He’s not drowning right now, is he?”

The Trickster holds fast to Sam and keeps him from pulling away. “He’s off Mythbusting. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” His expression is drawn abruptly tight for a moment. He leans closer to Sam, pulling at his jacket lapels. “Surprise me and listen for a second. Tearful award-winning performances aside, I need you to promise me.”

Sam shivers against the Trickster, nuzzling him unthinkingly. “That I’ll never let go?”

“That you’ll survive,” the pagan god clarifies. The water ices around them and Sam shudders at the drop in temperature. “That you’ll play your roles, and you’ll survive.”

“Why won’t you just help us,” Sam whispers. He had honestly thought that maybe the Trickster would - it is why he’d suggested it to Dean in the first place.

The board creaks as the Trickster leans on it to raise himself out of the water. His breath is warm, like the rest of him, and melts the flecks of ice on Sam’s eyelashes. “Promise me.”

Ocean water is sloshing up Sam’s jacket sleeves again, stealing away the small amount of heat the Trickster’s touch is providing. Sam heaves a short sigh. “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

“Great.” The Trickster twists his hands in Sam’s, holding on tightly for a moment. Sam’s palms tickle, and then burn, and in the white light that blossoms between them, Sam finds himself staring spellbound at the gentled look on the Trickster’s face.

“What was that?”

The Trickster slips backward into the water with an impish smile. “Let’s pretend it’s a hope diamond, and I need you to keep an eye on it for me.”

Sam brushes his lips over the the Trickster’s fingers before letting him go. “Heart of the Ocean, if we’re talking Titanic..”

The answering smile clearly indicates deep amusement that Sam knows this, despite him having lived the movie out. “Just don’t lose it.” He slips away into the ocean, Leonardo once more. Sam turns onto his back to watch the stars and wait for the lifeboats to come.

 

\---

 

The shadow on the wall of the motel has more than two arms twisting in the light. Even thought Sam feels a little ridiculous, in his defence, he had just pulled a can from the vending machine, so it’s not exactly his fault that he spins to face the creature, knife in one hand, can of ginger ale in the other.

It’s a woman in every seductive sense of the word that stands before him, but even that’s not enough to stop Sam from throwing the ginger ale at her head. Because it’s Kali, and not a regular human on a midnight snack binge, she levels a reproachful look at him as the can bursts and melts in midair, caught in sudden flame.

“What do you want?” Sam demands.

“You will come with me.” Her tone leaves no room for negotiation. In her hand she reveals three small vials, glass and slender, with a trickle of red in each. It’s a reminder of how Sam - along with Dean, and Gabriel if he were alive - is bound to her by blood. Kali tucks the vials away and offers her other hand to Sam, impatient.

Dean’s asleep, three doors away, and Sam only has his knife. He takes her hand anyway.

The shift of space feels different when Kali does it, like she’s moving the physical matter of the world and walking swiftly through it. Sam is tugged along, tripping over the changing passage, and when he stumbles to a stop he feels singed. His nerves are buzzing and sensitive, and it’s so completely different from travelling with an angel.

Sam has a sense of vague recognition when he looks around the room. A hotel, classier than he’s used to. The first two walls are splattered with old blood. The third is broken and leads into a darkened hallway. Behind him is a window, but it’s still night outside, and the glass is fogged.

Kali steps into the hallway and Sam follows after. The hotel is silent and abandoned, hushed in a way that Sam doesn’t like. He knows this place, and with each click of Kali’s heels, grows more certain of where she’s taking him. In the hall there are the shapes of where bodies had dropped, ripped apart or thrown aside. In the room at the end of the hall, wings are embossed into the floor, feathered ashes still drifting.

In the center of the wingspan, a body. Sam’s chest seizes like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

Kali presses a vial into Sam’s hand and crushes the other two. The crack of glass sounds like windows shattering in silence of the room. Sam doesn’t look at her and Kali steps away. The building creaks as she leaves and then goes quiet again.

Sam doesn’t remember moving forward, but between one heartbeat and the next he’s kneeling at Gabriel’s side, hesitant fingertips brushing over the archangel’s face. A streak of bloodied fingertips have dried on the same path, making a sad caress over Gabriel’s brow. The body hasn’t decayed and hasn’t been disturbed, left in place as if he sprawled out dramatically and decided to sleep.

The thought makes Sam choke on a sudden laugh; he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

Sam’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do. He uncaps the vial that Kali gave him, twisting it between his fingers while he sucks in a shaky breath. He rests one hand on Gabriel’s chest and frowns down at him.

A jolt races through his palm, insistent.

“Serious?” Sam mutters to himself, suddenly understanding. He takes his cue from Kali, and crushes the vial between one of his hands and one of Gabriel’s. Glass shards cut into their skin and their blood mixes sluggishly together. There is a sharp burst of light that collapses inward, sinking into torn flesh and healing it after.

Almost immediately, Gabriel’s eyes flick open. If he were human, he probably would’ve heaved a breath, but his fingers simply tighten around Sam’s. His gaze slides around the room, glassy and distant, before resting on the furthest tip of the ashed wings, pressed against the wall. Gabriel goes still again, lashes fluttering lower, and Sam leans over him, panicking.

Gabriel’s body arches upward, and a rush of air bursts out beneath him to rip up the smoke-stained floor and destroy the tables. The wall cracks where the feathered pattern ended, and the window brakes open to let the swirling ash out.

When Sam is done coughing and can see straight again, Gabriel is leaning up, smiling at him. “Didn’t toss it in the ocean, huh?” The archangel’s voice is just as teasing and amused as usual.

Sam leans down to kiss him, muttering, “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

 

\---

 

Dean steps out with his phone to his ear. Sam assumes he’s calling Bobby. He’s always calling Bobby, these days. Sam pretends not to notice. Gabriel appears a few seconds later, tasting like Red Vines and pushing Sam back against the chair. The laptop he’s working from is suddenly closed and settled on the table a few feet away.

“Gabriel, wait,” Sam pushes at his chest, and then turns his head when that doesn’t work. “Wait. We’re going to Detroit tomorrow.” The words are heavy, meaningful in the space between them.

Gabriel’s eyes narrow, and his gaze shifts slightly, searching. Sam winces, because he knows what Gabriel’s looking for in his thoughts. When he finds it, the angel pulls away, his mouth twisted in fierce anger. “That’s your plan?”

“I can do this,” Sam says, perhaps a little desperately. “It’ll work.”

“You made me a promise,” Gabriel reminds him. His fingers curl in Sam’s hair, tugging his head back so they forcibly meet eye-to-eye. Sam grits his teeth and Gabriel raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

Sam wants to say what Gabriel’s expecting, but he knows better. “I can’t keep it.”

Gabriel presses Sam back almost painfully into the chair. There’s something strange wavering in his tone. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and thinks maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. At this point he can’t help but add, “Lucifer says it’ll end in Detroit.”

“He says a lot of things,” Gabriel mutters tightly, but he doesn’t contradict the statement.

Sam pushes, because he wants to know, and because he can never stop pushing where Gabriel’s concerned. “He went ahead in the future, just like you did. How far did you go?”

Gabriel’s silence is almost enough to convince Sam that Lucifer’s right, until the angel answers, “Far enough to know that it doesn’t end in Detroit.” He interrupts before Sam can ask what he meant, and Gabriel leans back to peer at Sam appraisingly. “Lemme sell you some life insurance.”

“What?”

“This isn’t something I can give. Or take.”

There’s something in his tone that Sam isn’t sure he likes and he stares at Gabriel for a moment, as if trying to process what he is suggesting. Sam says slowly, “Are you offering me a deal? You’re an angel!”

Gabriel waves a hand and shifts in Sam’s lap. He’s carefully disinterested in the conversation in a way that Sam knows that means it’s extremely important. “I can do what I want. And stop being so dramatic; that’s my job.” Gabriel makes a nonchalant twist of his lips, and then shrugs. “I’ll power you up and give you a little extra oomph to fight my brother in your stupid plan.”

“And what,” Sam asks immediately, “In return you get my soul?”

Finger trailing on Sam’s chest, Gabriel says, “One week from now, your soul, and everything of yours attached to it-” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “-Goes to me.”

Sam ignores the innuendo in favour of repeating, “One week?”

“This is a prime deal.” Gabriel says, “Going once. Goooing twice-”

“Will it work?”

Gabriel has some sort of problem with giving a straight answer, so he says, “If it doesn’t work with my help, will it work without it?” It’s exactly the kind of point that Sam doesn’t want to hear. It’s ambiguous and uncertain. The next day Sam is going to face down Lucifer and try to keep control.

“Yeah,” Sam hears himself mumbling. Gabriel makes a soft sort of noise that, if Sam didn’t know better, might have sounded like relief. “Okay, Gabriel.”

The firm kiss that Gabriel presses against Sam’s mouth doesn’t feel any different than usual (and Sam knows that is the exact thought that prompts a bit of tongue on Gabriel’s part) and might have been unnoticed in their regular activities. Gabriel smiles as he pulls away, definitely approving, and pats Sam patronizingly on the cheek.

He’s gone in the next moment when Dean comes back into the room. He doesn’t look at Sam while he flicks his phone shut, and Sam doesn’t say anything at all.

 

-

 

One week on earth isn’t one week in hell. Sam doesn’t know what the time conversion should be, and doesn’t even know long he’s been in Lucifer’s box. He only knows when his time is up, and that Gabriel’s end of the deal has expired, because Lucifer suddenly stops raging to look at Sam like he’s abruptly the last cookie sitting on the dessert tray.

Sam, with a laugh that startles them both, doesn’t fight it, and is firmly stolen away.


End file.
